Brixton now! To Lord Acorn's dismayed mind it seemed that he might almost as well start for the moon; and for a few seconds he hesitated. But—having undertaken this adventurous expedition—adventurous in more ways than one—he must carry it through for his unhappy daughter's sake.
"Do you fancy Sir Turtle is likely to be at home now, at—ah, Rosemary House—if I go there, my man?"
"Most likely, sir. He is mostly at home earlier than this. Sir Turtle is very fond of his garden and greenhouses, you see, and makes haste home to 'em. He's got no wife nor child. But it's Rosemary Lodge, sir; not Rosemary House."
"Ah, yes, thank you—Rosemary Lodge," repeated his lordship, dropping a shilling into the porter's hand, and hailing the first cab he met.
"Rosemary Lodge, Brixton," said he to the driver.
"Yes, sir. What part of Brixton?"
"Don't know at all," said his lordship. "Never was at Brixton in my life."
"Brixton's a straggling sort of place, you see, sir. I might be driving you about——"
"It is between Brixton and Clapham," interrupted the earl. "Rosemary Lodge: Sir Turtle Kite's."
"Oh, come, the name's something," said the man, as he drove off.